


NINE: POWER FATIGUE

by roswyrm



Series: AND REMEMBER! BAD THINGS: WILL HAPPEN [5]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Burnout - Freeform, Gen, Kinda?, Magic, Power Outage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-05-30 17:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19407874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: Written for the-navigator-knows-the-way and the Bad Things Happen Bingo!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hope y'all are ready for a goddamn whirlwind of content bc THATS WHAT YOU'RE GETTING

Hamid isn’t tired. He isn’t tired, or hungry, or anything else, but when he reaches for his magic, there’s nothing there but rust. 

He casts another Scorching Ray anyway, and it scrapes out of his fingertips like a razorblade skimmed along his veins to try and find the brass underneath. But it _works,_ is the important thing, is the thing that matters, is what anybody really cares about. It works, and the sound of the cultist going up in flames nearly masks his own scream. Zolf reaches out to heal him, and Hamid jerks his wrist away. “I’m fine,” he lies, because Zolf can’t fix this and Hamid knows how Zolf feels when he thinks his god isn’t there. (He misses the hurt look Zolf gives him, too busy preparing himself for that razorblade feeling as more enemies advance.)

They win, just barely, and Hamid collapses to his knees as tears continue to streak down his face. “Come here,” Zolf says, and Hamid moves away. “Hamid, you’re a mess, let me _help—”_ Prestidigitation creaks out of him, the verbal component little more than a whimper, but at least he’s pretty again. “Hamid,” Zolf snaps, and Hamid doesn’t want him to think that Poseidon’s abandoned him again, so he gets to his feet and clenches his fists. Zolf must see the determination in his eyes, because he groans. “Fine. _Fine,_ whatever, come on. I think there are more of them in the next room.”

His spells get weaker, less and less of him there to scrape away as kindling. When they finally manage to find a bit of respite, Hamid is leaning into Zolf’s side, his chest heaving in a desperate attempt to stoke the flames flickering out in his lungs. “You’re never this cold,” Zolf murmurs worriedly, and Hamid wonders if his or Zolf’s perception is off; Hamid feels like he’s burning alive, the last feeble attempts at feeding the magic in him screaming louder than he could hope to speak.

Hamid wipes away his tears (no makeup comes with it; he got rid of it a while ago because it was easier to magic it away than to keep magicking it back on) and manages, “Everything’s too hot.” Zolf puts a hand to his forehead, and Hamid slumps into him. He’s burning alive, but the magic is still so quiet, the pyre he constructed to keep it going burnt down to ash.

“Just a few more rooms,” Zolf promises, and Hamid can feel healing magic slowly spreading through the hand Zolf has on his back. It’s cool, and Hamid shudders at the feeling. He doesn’t say that another spell might make his skin bubble with the heat of it, he doesn’t say that casting anything makes the calcified remains of his heart threaten to crack, he doesn’t say that he is _tired,_ that his magic _hurts._

Hamid nods. “A few more rooms.” And Zolf smiles at him like Hamid’s doing something to be proud of and not just the very least he can. Hamid’s going to burn himself from the inside to fuel his casting, and maybe they’ll get through this hellish labyrinth alive.


	2. Chapter 2

Hamid is bloody and bruised and his insides are burned out by the time they finally stumble back into the real world, into his own apartment that feels so alien after the swirling blue walls of the labyrinth, but at least he and Zolf are both _breathing._ Damn Cel and their curiosity over the odd apparition of a doorway. The others aren’t there, and Hamid wonders if they’re still in the labyrinth or if they got out earlier or if—

he’s not going to wonder if they’re going to be in the labyrinth forever.

The world tilts, suddenly, and Hamid’s expecting his vision to go black as his equilibrium is rather violently upset, but it just swims as much as it has been for the past few hours. “Alright,” Zolf says, suddenly louder, (closer?) and Hamid realises he’s been scooped up like a ragdoll. “Let’s get you into bed, yeah?” And Zolf’s chest is searing, and his arms seal Hamid in like he’s settled against an inferno, and the heat of everything is _too much._ Hamid struggles, but Zolf just holds him in place. Zolf reprimands, “You can’t even make it two steps without leaning on me.” Hamid could make it to his room, honest, but more healing spreads through his veins so suddenly that it stuns him into silence. There’s no more brass there, not even a smidgen of rust where it used to be; it’s all just a sharp emptiness where the magic should make itself manifest, but Cure Wounds is _cool,_ like some sort of balm on his razored-raw nerves, and Hamid shudders as he leans into the touch.

The pale blue doorway swirls and Hamid’s vision swirls with it until Zolf rounds the corner and opens the door to Hamid’s room. The sheets are unbearably warm, and he scrabbles at Zolf’s shoulders as he tries to set him down. “Don’t,” he whispers, “don’t go, please.”

“I’m not– I can’t _do_ anything, Hamid! I don’t know what’s wrong!” Zolf snaps, the way he always does when he’s worried, and Hamid makes a wordless noise of frustration at him. Sleep should help; when Hamid runs out of kindling for his spells, it’s back in the morning, after he’s slept. But that’s so many words, and his vocal cords feel as though all of Cairo’s sand has filtered through them, so he just tucks his head into the hollow of Zolf’s throat and grumbles.

Zolf’s chest rises and falls around a sigh of exasperation, but Hamid holds on. If he could walk, he’d go back through the doorway to try and rescue his friends, and he knows that Zolf will do the same if he isn’t kept here. “Just stay,” Hamid manages past the grit in his throat that tastes of blood and tears and ash, “stay here, don’t go.” 

Zolf is frustratingly gentle as he starts settling into the bed beside Hamid, carefully moving so that he doesn’t crush him, and Hamid just tugs him down into the blankets. Pressure is good, Hamid thinks to himself as he hides himself from the heat of the room beneath Zolf’s arm. “You– Hamid, are you sure you’re—”

“Comfy,” Hamid rasps, and Zolf seems to relax. “Stay?” Zolf is silent for a moment, and then he readjusts so that his head is on Hamid’s chest and his arm is over his waist.

“I’m not going anywhere,” murmurs Zolf, his tone implying that when (not if, it has to be when) Cel and Sasha and Grizzop and Azu find them like this, he will place all of the blame directly on Hamid’s head. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, at least, not as much as he’s pretending to. “Think you’ll feel better in the morning?” Hamid rumbles in agreement, ignoring the way the rust catches in his throat. “Alright. Sleep well.”

Hamid manages, patting awkwardly at Zolf’s back, “you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> im still taking prompts SO if you wanna SEND SOME im on tumblr @roswyrm and my tag for these is the same as the series name hmu!!!


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